


Pitch On The Pitch

by rosebud_boy



Series: Carry On Countdown 2019 [5]
Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alcohol, Carry On Countdown (Simon Snow), Carry On Prequel, Football | Soccer, M/M, Oblivious Simon, Pining, he literally cannot tell the difference between jealousy and feelings, penny is so sick of listening to simon talk abt baz, tho simon can't tell shdalkjfdl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:14:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21613639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosebud_boy/pseuds/rosebud_boy
Summary: Simon watches Baz play football.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Series: Carry On Countdown 2019 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1554379
Comments: 5
Kudos: 52





	Pitch On The Pitch

PENELOPE

“What’re you doin’ after clases, Pen?”

Simon and I are in the dining hall, just finishing our lunch. Well, I’m finishing, Simon’s just gotten a second plate. He eats like an absolute animal, it’s a shame they don’t teach manners in care homes. 

“Just studying for our Magic Words Exam, and you should too,” I respond. But I know he’s got something else planned, he wouldn’t have asked otherwise. “Why?”

He takes another huge bite of yorkshire pudding before responding. “There’s a football match at 4:30, and I--”

“Nicks and Slick, Simon, no,” I interject. There’s no way that he thinks he can drag me to another bloody football match. “I’m not going to sit out in the cold just so you can watch a bunch of blokes run around and complain about Baz for two hours.”

Simon frowns like he’s offended, or like I’m wrong. He places his fork down onto the table. “If I’m not there to watch Baz, how do I know he won’t just ditch the game? If I don’t watch him, he could get up to no good. I should be there, you know. Just to make sure.”

I roll my eyes. I love him but he’s so dense sometimes. “Baz can’t just leave the game, Simon. He’s their best player, they put him as striker half the time, and I hate that I know that! There is no reason for us to be there. We have better ways to spend our time.”

He stares at the table, thinking. I can practically hear the cogs turning in his head. He knows I’m right. 

“But, like. What if they don’t need him? Or if he starts trouble on the team? There are variables, Penny.”

I sigh and stand up, picking up my dishes. “Go ahead and waste your time,” I say, pushing in my chair. “But I’m not going to freeze and die of boredom when I can be inside, being productive with my time.” I walk off, hoping he gains some common sense for once and skips the game, but knowing he most likely will not. 

SIMON

I know Penelope told me not to go. I know I’m probably wasting my time. But I’m still here anyways. 

She was right about the cold, but I’ve got my jumper and whatever’s in Gareth’s flask warming me up. My face and hands are fraught with chill, but the game’s only got about half an hour in it left so I think I’ll live. 

Even though I mostly go to the games for Baz, there’s just an enjoyable element to them that I really get drunk off of. The horrible loudness of the cheering, the shit lighting on the field. I like it when Pen comes with, because even when she’s bored she’s still funny, but even without her I know and enjoy the company of others. There’s plenty of people from classes that I get on with just fine. You know, when I’m not exploding or setting things on fire. 

Baz is definitely the main element here, though. He’s a bastard, but he’s got moves on the field. It’s a bit hypnotic to watch, in the least weird way possible. 

Penny was right about that, too, Coach Mac seems to have put Baz on striker again tonight, and he’s bloody brilliant at it. He’s made two goals already, and he does it with such skill that it’s hard for me to look at. It pisses me off or something, I get jealous easily thinking about Baz on the pitch. There’s a fluttering, churning feeling in my stomach. 

He’s all legs; it’s what makes up the height difference between us, the wanker. He uses that to his advantage. He’s probably the fastest on the team. He sprints across the field like a goddamned antelope during a good match. He’s got accurate score, too. I’ve seen him make a goal from more than halfway across the field, and whoever’s on goalie for the other team always misses. 

I’ve always been fairly shit at football. It’s impossible not to compare myself to Baz when there’s only one football club at Watford, and he’s Mac’s star player. When my mates and I would play, they would always put me as goalie because it was the only position I was decent at. It was just instinct to use my whole body to block the ball from getting into the net, and I succeeded about half the time. My coordination isn’t the best. 

I’ve played a couple of games against Baz, but never too much as it would usually result in me breaking his nose or a screaming match between the two of us. I stopped playing around our fifth year, but I don’t really miss it. I’m more of a rugby man anyways. 

But Baz is still exceptional on the field. I would never tell him that, his ego already can’t fit in our dorm room, but I absolutely cannot deny the facts. I love watching him.

He’s running across the grass now, faster than most everyone else. He’s tied up his hair. During a match is the only time he dares do it, but it’s not a bad look and I think he should do it more often (I made that comment to Penny once and she just stared at me with her brow raised. She doesn’t like it much when I talk about Baz.) 

Dev’s on the team as well, he’s a midfielder mostly. He passes the ball to Baz, who makes a swift shot to the goal in one movement.

The Watford stands go crazy, screaming and cheering fills the chilly night air. I laugh and throw my fist up. Gareth swears next to me as he drops his flask down the stands.

The Watford team all start gathering around Baz, throwing arms around him and practically drowning him in purple and white. Coach Mac calls them over to the sidelines to make their next play. 

My eyes are glued to Baz as all the players go back to position. There’s a large number 61 on the back of his jersey in white, I watch the material shift over his muscles as he runs across the field. I should make a comment when we get back to the room. It’s bloody well impressive, making three goals himself in a game with plenty of time still on the clock. 

I shake the thought out of my head. I don’t know why I thought that would be a good idea. We hate each other and barely speak, why would I compliment him on his football abilities? What would I even say? ‘Hey, Baz, just wanted to say you’re brilliant on the pitch. Also, I only come to the games just to make sure you aren’t trying to kill me.’ I don’t think that would go down very well. 

He’s so good during games, though. And while he does so many other things. He’s just better than me everywhere. It’s unbearable sometimes. 

My hands are starting to sting from the chill, so I shove them into my pockets. 

The game ends (Watford wins, no surprise. The purple flashing in the stands while everyone screamed made me feel a weird pride that only shows up in my chest during football matches.) I end up back in my room, pulling my blanket over my lap as I try to warm up. I rethink what Penny told me earlier and pull out my review for Magic Words. I’m trying to study when Baz steps into the room.

He gives me a look down his nose before ignoring me completely. His hair is still tied up, and he’s wearing his uniform. Baz gathers some things, stepping towards the bathroom. The door closes and I can hear the water running. I’ve not taken a shower tonight, honoring our silent agreement that he gets showers after matches. 

Ten minutes later, Baz steps out, smelling like his cedar and bergamot shampoo. He’s slicked his hair back. He sits at his desk and pulls out school work. 

I keep thinking about the game. He played so excellently, I’m sure the team and coach are thrilled with him. He essentially won their victory. 

I should say something. Anything. Express in some way that he did good, that I think he’s a mighty player. The need to speak creeps up my throat and I open my mouth. 

Baz glances at me from the corner of his eye. He gives me a strange look.

I close my mouth and return to my review.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing anything sports related, so I'm sorry if it's blatantly obvious I just did a quick google search about 'football', or if it's blatantly obvious that I'm American and don't know the British terms for anything, especially soccer related stuff. Also, I finally included a different point of view than just Baz or Simon (even tho Penny's pov is really short). I hope y'all enjoyed, thank you for reading! I really appreciate kudos! :)


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